


Everything We Ever Wanted

by Lysistrata_Strategy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adulthood, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Gen, Multi, Time Turner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysistrata_Strategy/pseuds/Lysistrata_Strategy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the war, the Weasley family is still reeling from Fred's death while Harry and Ron find life as civilians painfully dull. When Ron unearths a stolen Time-Turner in Hermione's apartment, our heroes finally have the chance to save the people they lost and stop the war before it begins. But time travel isn't easy, and every move they make risks unraveling the delicate peace sustaining the twenty-first century.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first fic that I've been brave enough to post on AO3. It will update approximately twice a week and span several chapters. A sequel will follow. Thanks for reading!

“Mr. Longbottom,” Professor McGonagall said through tightly clenched teeth, “why don’t you step into my office?” 

At that moment, Neville swore that he was not long for this world. Tiny white dots clouded his vision, and his heart, usually so reliable, went haywire. Once she had poked her head out of her office, her face red and lips white, and called him by his real name, he knew it was over. Everything they had worked towards, all of their scheming and the frighteningly detailed plans scrawled in Hermione’s tiny handwriting, after months it would be over. Had he not seen his entire life crashing around him at that very moment, Neville may have been relieved. 

“Now, Mr. Longbottom.” With a swish of her robes, McGonagall turned inside of her office. Neville caught the door before it slammed shut. Her office was the same as it had always been: dark wood, old books, sunlight streaming in from the window over her desk and giving the room a comfortable warmth. He took a seat.

Upon entering McGonagall’s office, Neville almost immediately had flashbacks to the previous times he’d met with her. Employment counseling, concerns over his marks in Transfiguration and Potions, praise for his success in Charms and Herbology; during none of these meetings had McGonagall looked as furious as she did now. Neville realized that, for his former professor, none of the meetings had yet to happen. Perhaps they never would; she might, for all he knew, send both Neville and his younger self to Azkaban for the multiplicity of crimes that he had committed or would commit. 

McGonagall took five slow, deep breaths and placed her hands on the dark wooden desk between them. She interlaced her fingers so tightly that her knuckles began turning white. The office was bright from the mid-afternoon sunshine, but even if it had been pitch-black Neville suspected he would have felt her anger emanating from across the desk and filling the room like a gas. 

“I am certain,” she said in a slightly more stable voice than before, “that you know why I have asked you here.” 

Neville’s throat felt sticky, his saliva dense as though he had not spoken for many days. “I have a hunch,” he rasped, offering a small smile. 

“If you have done what I believe you have done, then you have put life as you know it at an incredible risk.” For a brief second, the tremor in her voice appeared to come from fear, rather than anger. “Not only that, but you have infiltrated my school, violated my trust, threatened my students and, I suspect, severely harmed one of my closest friends.” 

“No, I didn’t,” Neville stammered in a rush. “I know the situation, the circumstances, and I can tell you, I promise, she’s fine.” 

McGonagall looked at him in silence. Neville recognized her expression: the careful, methodical examination that had never been fixed on him for quite this long a time. “What is the situation, then?” she finally asked in a low voice. 

The situation, as it were, began approximately seven months ago. Or perhaps it would begin nearly ten years in the future. They had never quite figured out a way to discuss the chronology of their lives since finding a Time-Turner in Hermione’s flat on July 17, 2003. 

Ron had made the discovery the day he, Harry, Luna, Neville, and Ginny had come to help Hermione move from her cramped flat in Surrey to Ron and Harry’s cramped flat in London. Almost everything had already been packed and if Ron had taken more care not to knock Hermione’s jewelry box from the top shelf in her wardrobe, the day may have ended without incident. 

“Fuck,” Ron muttered as earrings and necklaces spilled over the floor. The box itself, made from a dark porcelain, had shattered into tiny pieces around Ron’s feet. He halfheartedly attempted to repair it but knew that it was beyond his capacity. “Can you help me mate?” he called over to Harry, who had only just apparated back from London. 

“What a great start to cohabitation,” he said as he flicked his wand in the box’s direction. A few of the larger shards mended together, but for the most part it remained utterly wrecked. Harry shrugged. “Well she didn’t take the bowls too badly; this can’t be much worse.” Earlier in the day Ginny had knocked out a shelf in a kitchen cabinet and sent three bowls careening to the floor, only one of which would be salvageable. The day had truly tested the limits of their repairing spells. 

Ron sighed. “Why does she own all this delicate stuff?” All of his dishware was made of plastic. He began scooping up jewelry by hand. “She doesn’t even wear jewelry, I don’t get it.” His hands full of mismatched earrings, he glanced up at Harry. “I’m never gonna understand her. Never in a million years.” 

But Harry had stopped listening to him by then. His eyes were on a necklace on the floor. “What is that?” 

“I mean if we get married it’ll be different, I’m sure. Bill says it is. Says they’re more like people, ’specially when they have kids. It gets easier, you know? They make more sense.” 

Harry, meanwhile, had picked the necklace up and begun examining the tiny hourglass resting on the chain. “Do you recognize this?” 

“I told you, she doesn’t wear her jewelry. It’s probably just something from her gran.” At this point, Ron had more jewelry than he could hold, and he’d continued dropping it all over the floor. “I’m gonna give up. We’re wasting time.” Once again, he glanced up at Harry. This time, however, his friend had an astonished, slightly glazed look on his face. 

“Have you seen this before?” he asked in an odd, distant voice. “Do you know what it is?” 

Ron scrutinized the little hourglass and the bronze chain. It had a vague familiarity but nothing he could place specifically. “I don’t think so. Maybe a little? I’ve never seen her wear it or anything.” The strange blankness on Harry’s face unsettled Ron’s stomach, and despite the warmth and quiet of the day, he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. “What’s wrong?”

Harry carefully cupped the hourglass in his palm. “Impossible” he said, running a finger over it. “She wouldn’t.” He shook his head, the expression on his face clearing slightly. “This can’t be, but, no it’s not. No. Ridiculous.” 

“You need to explain yourself. I got enough cryptic shite from you two back at school.” 

“It’s a Time-Turner!” he blurted. “But it’s not. It’s not! We destroyed all of them. They don’t exist anymore.” 

“The Department of Mysteries,” Ron muttered. He knew vaguely of Time-Turners, having never encountered Hermione’s during their third year and barely seeing the room of time at the end of their fifth. He knew what it meant though, if it were real. The kind of power she had. The things she could have stopped. 

They abandoned her bedroom and sprinted to the front of the flat, where Ginny and Neville were packing up Hermione’s impressive collection of books. “Where is she?” Harry gasped. 

Neville didn’t look up from his packing. “She and Luna just took some boxes to your flat. They’ll be back soon, but I think we’re almost done if we just want to take the rest and meet them there.” 

“No,” Harry said, with an intensity none of them had seen for years. “No. She needs to come back here and explain herself. She needs to explain this.” He shoved the necklace in Neville’s and Ginny’s faces. Neither of them blinked. Ginny gave him an exhausted look. 

“She needs to explain her poor taste in jewelry?” Without waiting for an answer, she cast an exhausted look at the both of them. “We’ve been packing all day, and I’m starving. Can’t we just head over to London, get some dinner?” 

“Ginny I think this is a Time-Turner.” 

When Ginny got angry, she didn’t tend to explode like their mother. Rather, her ears and cheeks turned bright red, and her lips got very white. Her lower eyelids twitched, and she stood slightly taller as the muscles in her upper body tensed. “Well that’s absurd,” she said, very quietly. The men in the room grew silent, holding their breath and waiting. “If she had a Time-Turner, I am certain she would have prevented certain events. After all, she’s family. She knows what we went through, what we’re still going through.” Five years after Fred’s death, Arthur and Molly had begun living separately. George jolted between an inescapable, all-encompassing depression and a manic desire to fulfill any of his brother’s former dreams. The joke shop was quickly going bankrupt. Bill, Charlie, and Percy rarely visited their family or one another. Even Ron suffered during Auror training; his occasional weeks without sleep wreaked havoc on his defensive spells. “Surely, if she could change things, she would.” 

Rather unfortunately, Hermione chose that exact moment to apparate back into her front room with a loud crack. For a quick moment she appeared ready to start barking out directions, but the tension in the room was nearly tangible, and she stopped herself. “What’s…” her eyes found the hourglass necklace, the supposed Time-Turner, cradled in Harry’s palm. “What’s going on?” she finished weakly. 

Ginny let out a shaky laugh. “Hermione, please tell Harry and Ron that you don’t own a Time-Turner. Because surely, if you did, you would have used it by this point. Right? I mean, horrible, horrible things have happened and you, you wouldn’t just let them if you had the option to go back, right? You would fix things because you care about us. Because we’re your family.” 

Hermione was quiet for several seconds. When she spoke, she didn’t address Ginny’s fury, Neville’s shock, or Harry’s ferocity. Rather, she turned to Ron, “I can’t start our life together with a lie. Yes, it’s a Time-Turner, and I’ve had it for years. I can explain why I never used it, why I have, how I have it, but you need to trust that it is in our best interest to leave it be.” 

“People died, Hermione,” Harry said, nearly shouting. “Innocent people.” 

“And guilty people, too” Hermione said without flinching. Ron could see from her forced calm that she had rehearsed this scene before, the same way she had when he first asked her to marry him and she said she wanted to wait. “You can’t just go back and expect everything to work out the same. You know that.” She turned to Ginny. “I wanted to go back and save Fred. Save Lupin, Tonks, Sirius, Dumbledore. Of course I did. But the risks are immense. And we got off lucky, things could have been so much worse.” 

“You got off lucky,” Ginny said in a low voice. “You did. You sent your parents away. You could play it safe. You had that option. We didn’t. And we may as well have lost everything.” 

Tears welled up in Hermione’s eyes. “Ginny you know that’s not true.” 

Another loud crack, and Luna reappeared in the room. She glanced around. “Hello again. Are we almost ready to go?” 

“She has a Time-Turner” spat Harry, gesturing wildly at the now crying Hermione. Luna cocked her head to the side. “Well you know those are incredibly dangerous.” Hermione breathed a sigh of thanks. “Time Wolves, and all. You can never be too careful,” Luna finished sagely. “But I thought we destroyed the Time-Turners? Back when we first became friends?” 

“I did too,” said Neville, speaking for the first time. 

Hermione shook her head, her bushy hair sticking to her damp cheeks. “I made a copy of the one I had when I was a third year. It was all so hectic no one noticed. I just wanted something when Wormtail escaped. Just in case we lost Harry. In case we lost everything.” She looked at Ron pityingly. 

He knew she had made the right decision, but he still struggled to control the anger that coursed through his belly. “I know why you did it,” he said finally. “I do, really, but couldn’t we still go back? Fix everything?” 

“Going back an hour is risky. Going back five, six years is unthinkable.” Hermione stood up slightly straighter now, redirecting her attention at Harry and Ginny. “I know, I should have used the Time-Turner earlier.” She was lying. Ron could always tell when she lied. “And I’m unbelievably sorry for the problems we face today. But we are safe. And alive. If we go back in time, we could destroy what we have now. We could lose everything.” 

For a few brief seconds, Ginny and Harry looked as though they might give up. Neville and Luna shared uneasy looks; they had no business in the past, hadn’t lost close friends or family. Neville even thought he turned out better because of the trials he had endured. But their being there in Hermione’s flat, their knowing about the Time-Turner and the inevitable plans hatching in their friends’ heads, would inevitably tie them to whatever scheme their friends concocted. 

Finally, Harry said, “I still want to go. And I will go with or without you, Hermione, but I know the danger we’ll be in without you, and you know that we need you for this.” 

At the time no one had a plan. The shock and hurt in the room overpowered rationality, and any plans or preparation were clouded behind a dense fog of anger and anxiety. But they all knew that this moment in Hermione’s flat was the beginning of something terrifying and new.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traveling ten years in the past requires delicate planning. Any wrong move, and everything will come crashing down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was later than I initially planned! I recently moved and am readjusting to a new schedule. Updates will hopefully be more regular from now on.

“What were you thinking?” The man pressed close to Hermione, his breath foul and tickling her nostrils. “You of all people should have known how delicately we cling to reality.” He turned away from her. “I hope you’re happy, Miss Granger. From what I’ve heard, your future was decent. Livable. Potter and Weasley were with you, weren’t they? What a difference that would have made.” 

“You’re lucky to be alive you know.” Her answer was weak, but it was the only retaliation she could muster. “You don’t understand how things were. Our victory over the Death Eaters didn’t exactly ensure a happy life for people like you.” 

“Death is an illusion,” he scoffed. “But the hell that’s taken over Hogwarts? London? Completely real. And we’re all lucky to be alive, considering.” He turned back toward her but fixed his gaze at the ceiling. “I don’t know where I would have been, when you lot first decided to go back. I don’t have the life to waste thinking about it. You ruined it, Granger, you took it away from me.” 

“It wasn’t my decision to go. Not completely.” 

The man laughed, loud and cold. “It was your Time-Turner. Everyone knows that.” 

It was her Time-Turner. Or it had been her Time-Turner. But once the tiny hourglass was cradled in Ginny’s palm like a baby bird, it was no longer her Time-Turner. At that moment, crowded in her flat, the Time-Turner took on a life of its own, representing the freedom and hope that had all but faded as the six friends approached their adult lives. 

“I want to go back for Fred. For my whole family. I want things to be better,” Ginny had said, the anger that had rose from her like steam finally dissipating into a cool clarity. She folded her fingers around the little gold hourglass. “And I’ll go by myself if I have to.”

“You would need to go back at least five years. It’s been done, yes, but doing so carries immense risks.” Hermione tried to meet Ginny’s eyes, Ron’s eyes, anyone’s, but they all looked away. “I mean it. I can’t tell you to stay, that’s obvious, but you could kill people by going back. Make yourself disappear. Bring back Voldemort.” 

Ginny opened her mouth as if to speak but then closed it, shaking her head resolutely. Harry added, “We would be careful. Really. I want to go back too, and I know we’d end up with massive amounts of time, I know that Hermione. But we wouldn’t have to be around ourselves too much even. We could save the people we wanted to and then spend the rest of the time finding Horcruxes. We’d let our younger selves have fun, grow up normally, you know?” 

Hermione didn’t say anything. Ron spoke up instead. “We’d need a very specific plan, and I think we could do that. We’ve done harder stuff in the past, and we were just kids. There are enough of us here, in this room, that if we go back together we can have disguises, make sure the things that are supposed to happen actually happen and that everyone stays alive. Alright?” No one responded, so he continued. “And I’m telling you, I know exactly when to go back to. We need to kill Scabbers, there’s no question of it, so we should go back at least ten years. I know it’s a really long time, I see that look, Hermione, but that will give us some time to get to the Horcruxes. And save Sirius!” Ron and Harry exchanged quick grins. “He deserved better than what he got, so did Diggory, and Lupin and Tonks. And my family.” 

They never agreed formally that this would be the plan; rather, Ron’s impassioned speech had bound them to one another in a way they had not felt for years. After careful research, a delicate plan, and a few drinks, they stood tucked in shadow in a park in Surrey, pulled the Time-Turner around their six heads, turned the hourglass three-hundred and forty-seven times, and felt the earth pull out from under them. 

When they resurfaced, Hermione felt for a moment that she might vomit. The park was blindingly bright, baking in the early-August sunshine. The tree-covered section of the park from which they’d left was now a few scattered saplings, and their reappearance was exposed to the world. 

Fortunately, the day’s humidity kept the neighborhood children indoors. No one was about to see Neville retch onto one of the saplings or watch Ginny and Harry stumble the few blocks toward a nearby bank. 

Hermione, Ron, Luna, and Neville were seated on the ground in various stages of nausea when Ginny hissed, triumphantly, “We did it! Seventh of August, absolutely perfect. Well done Hermione!” The mathematics required to send them back exactly nine years and three-hundred and fifty days had been precarious and had occupied Hermione’s intervening week while the rest of the group hashed out a plot for their arrival. 

Six friends. Six roles. Just enough to prevent the world from falling apart at the seams. They hadn’t decided who would play which part yet; the whole plan hinged on the effective capturing of one Sirius Black, an event meant to take place on the seventh of August. Two people to keep him alive. One to infiltrate Hogwarts. One to monitor Hogsmeade. Two in London. Everyone safe, everything observed, nothing left to chance. 

Ginny was grinning. “I can’t believe we’re back here. I really can’t. We’re actually doing this.” 

“We’re not doing anything until we get Sirius,” Harry added. “He came by Privet Drive the same night I ran away. We need to make sure that I see him. Younger me, I mean. Just to keep everything properly in line. Luna and Neville will watch the Dursleys’ house. If I don’t blow up Aunt Marge tonight then we have a real problem.” Neville and Luna nodded solemnly. 

“Now we need to find a safe house where we can take Sirius. Just to hide him away and figure out the rest of the plan.” For years, Ginny had spoken in a near monotone. Hearing the electric crackle in her voice almost made Hermione believe this had been the right decision. Almost. “Ron, Hermione, would you mind searching the neighborhood? Anything, a house for sale, a store that closes in the evening, just some place Muggles won’t be. We’ll need some time to figure out the rest of the plan. Harry and I will be under the cloak, keeping watch for Sirius.” 

Hermione and Ron set off while Luna and Neville skulked, somewhat conspicuously, around the Dursleys’. “I really appreciate you doing this, Hermione.” Ron didn’t look straight at her but instead examined the surrounding homes. “I know it isn’t what you wanted.” 

“I just wanted us to be safe. Now we’ve devoted ourselves to ten years of secrecy. We could destroy everything.” She didn’t look at him either. They both stopped to peer into a home with a realtor’s sign in its front garden. 

“We could,” Ron acknowledged. He tapped the gate with his wand, and they both walked in. “But we might also catch with a future where things are a bit better. For us.” 

“Honestly Ron, we’ve just moved in together. I know things aren’t ideal with your family, and I’m doing my best to support you, but I would say that, between you and me, things are going well.” 

Ron looked at her for a moment and then turned back to the house. He didn’t say anything until they returned to Harry and Ginny. 

The sun sank in the sky behind Neville and Luna as they watched young Harry and the Dursleys from across the road. 

“They treated him really badly, didn’t they?” Luna said in her typical, offhanded manner. They had sat in silence for over an hour already. “It’s really remarkable he turned out decent.” 

Neville didn’t say anything. He rarely had anything to say in response to Luna’s comments. They’d been friends for nearly ten years, but he often did not know what to say to her when the two of them sat alone. He had once asked her if she enjoyed healer training, the profession she had chosen much to everyone’s distress. She had replied, “I suppose. Though I do wonder, often, whether they could have saved my mother if they incorporated more Muggle medicine.” 

How on earth does one respond to that? 

So they craned their necks in silence as a fight erupted in the Dursleys’ garden. At the first sign of Aunt Marge’s expansion, they rushed back toward the park but met their four friends at the corner instead. 

“Everything good with Marge?” They nodded. “Excellent. I’ll see Sirius across the road right there,” Harry pointed his thumb down the street. “The moment that happens, we’ll run in, grab him, and Hermione and Ron will apparate us to the house. 

Despite taking up much more space than could have possibly been discreet, the six young adults attempted to hide behind a cluster of bushes. They kept their eyes trained to the Dursleys’ home, listening for the shouting and screaming and watching neighbors clamber to the scene. Finally, Harry stumbled out of the house, dragging his trunk and swearing under his breath. But they had stopped watching the young boy by then. 

Sirius Black, the man, not the dog, was watching them. He was exposed, seemingly in shock, and terribly thin and gaunt. Hermione had never seen him look so ill. The bones in his arms and chest stuck out like knives and his gaze had a dazed, unfocused quality even as he appeared to watch them. But he wasn’t really watching all six of them, not properly. Even in his bewildered state it was clear he was interested in Harry and Harry alone. 

Young Harry moved past them apparently without seeing Sirius or the grim-like dog that should have haunted him throughout the next year. For a slight second, Sirius looked as though he was about to turn and run. Instead he collapsed as Ron threw his entire weight forward and tackled him to the ground, the air cracking as he disapparated. The street returned to silence. 

Hermione could hear the dim sounds of the Knight Bus, but it all sounded very far away. Her ears rushed with blood, and she turned away, once again fearing she would vomit. 

“He didn’t see the grim,” said Harry, mostly to himself. He, too, had taken on a sickly shade of green. “I don’t know…” but he couldn’t continue. Already he had changed his own past. 

“We need to move. We can’t leave him alone with Sirius. Hermione, take us to the house, now.” Ginny grabbed her hand and the rest followed. Numbly and on weak legs, Hermione stood, turned, and reappeared in chaos. 

“I can’t let you go! I’m sorry! I can’t! It’s for your own good, I promise,” Ron was shouting as he gripped Sirius’ arms. Sirius himself was emitting an inhuman, howling sound and struggling as he shifted back and forth between man and dog. “We know you’re innocent!” Ron was saying. He already had dark scratches rising on his arms and face. “We know who you are.” 

“Sirius!” Harry shouted as they gathered themselves in the empty front room. 

For a brief second, Sirius stopped struggling. Then he croaked, “James.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hovering in the space between life and death, Harry replayed the past few years over and over in his head. He had defeated Voldemort, he was beginning his dream position as an Auror, he had become engaged to Ginny Weasley, all truly was well. Yes, his Auror training had been a bit more tedious than he’d imagined, particularly as the last of the Death Eaters were rounded up, and yes, he had proposed to Ginny primarily to assuage the pain she felt following her parents’ separation. But still, before finding the Time-Turner he had expected that his life would improve. Then he agreed to go back, also, primarily, for Ginny’s sake. And then everything spiraled out of his control, and he longed for the tedium and emotional strain of 2003. 

He hadn’t been able to speak after they found Sirius. A numbness overtook him, one that would not fade away completely until everything really fell apart. 

“James,” Sirius rasped again, no longer struggling against Ron’s grip but rather appearing to be on the verge of collapse. Harry couldn’t reply; his mouth had gone dry and his tongue felt thick and heavy. They had not taken the pains to disguise themselves while in a Muggle neighborhood, and in the dim light he was indistinguishable from his father. “They took you, he killed you, I’m sorry. It was foolish, so foolish, but he’s alive. He’s waiting, he’ll kill him too, he’ll kill your son.” 

“Mr. Black,” Hermione interjected softly. Sirius started as though he had only just realized there were other people in the room. “Sirius. I know this is confusing and very difficult. We are on your side, I promise; we know you’re innocent.” She swallowed and finished hoarsely, “But you need to believe me when I tell you that James Potter is not here. He died many years ago, but you’re still alive. You’re not the only person who knows the truth about that night. We want to help you capture Wormtail so you can have your freedom back.” 

Sirius had gone so ghastly pale that Ron worried he might die on the spot, so he released the man. Tepidly, Sirius stepped forward and examined the six faces individually. “I know you.” He gestured around. “James, Lily, Frank. I did what I could to protect you. I’m sorry. You deserved better.” 

“Sirius, you haven’t met us before.” Ginny had been shaken to speak after he had called her Lily. “I promise. We know you. We know you’re innocent. But you need to believe that you have not met us before. I am not Lily Potter. He is not Frank Longbottom. We are not your friends, but we are here to help you.” 

“Why?” 

They had not decided whether or not they could inform anyone about the Time-Turner and the oncoming war. The obvious answer was no, because admitting to being from the future would inevitably cause more harm than good, but Sirius was one of the few people with whom they needed to be honest. He could easily escape them, disappear, and risk changing too much. He had to believe that they had a real reason to help him. 

“We’re seers,” blurted Ron. Hermione gave him a mortified look, and Neville let out a bizarre choking noise. Harry remained silent. “Well not all of us obviously. Just her,” he pointed, somewhat madly, at Luna. “She had a vision of a really terrible war that’s coming, and you, being here, well you’re the only one that can stop it!” 

“Ignore him. He’s talking nonsense,” said Hermione. “Listen, Sirius, we know that you’re innocent. We’ve said that repeatedly. We’re not going to turn you over to the Dementors. We want the same things you want. Together, we can clear your name.”

Sirius stared at her. “You think that’s what I care about? My friends were murdered. I’ve spent over a decade in Azkaban. My name is irrelevant. I’ll gladly take the Dementor’s Kiss if it means I can kill Pettigrew.” 

“We don’t want to kill Pettigrew. At least not immediately, not before we—”

“Then we don’t want the same things.” Sirius glared around the room, carefully avoiding Harry’s glance. Hermione pressed her lips together. They all fell silent. 

“It’s late,” Neville said finally. “It’s too late to have discussions like this. We need to sleep.” He turned to Sirius. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, Mr. Black, but I’d recommend you’d at least stay here with us for the night. We can get you to Hogsmeade tomorrow and set you up there.” 

“We can’t get to Pettigrew now anyway,” Ron added. “He’s with me – ahem – the Weasleys until classes begin in September.” Sirius didn’t say anything, but his shoulders sagged and his face lost the ferocity it had shown just minutes ago. Neville forced a small, comforting smile.

“Let’s go to bed. We’ll leave early tomorrow, in case anyone comes by to see the house.” 

But they didn’t sleep. Sirius paced around the suburban home, occasionally shifting from man to dog and back. The rest huddled together, attempting to figure out the next stage in their plan. 

“We need someone in Hogwarts as soon as possible. The term’s almost starting,” whispered Hermione. “And we can’t just be there temporarily. Someone has to have consistent access to the students so they can grab Pettigrew the moment the opportunity presents itself.” 

“So someone needs to teach?” asked Ginny. 

“Ideally, yes. But we need someone who won’t have too much contact with their younger self and who also can conceivably teach material for all years, including O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s.” 

“Harry could do that. He taught the D.A., and we were just children then.” 

“No, Lupin and Harry spent a lot of time together, and I think we need to make sure that still happens. Actually,” she looked contemplatively around their circle and settled on Neville, “I was thinking that we have someone with incredible Herbology training. Did you spend much time with Professor Sprout when we were third years?”

For a moment, Neville was too stunned to speak. “No, I suppose I didn’t. Not too much. We didn’t talk much before fourth year. I just did well in her class is all.” 

“Excellent. We’ll prevent her from returning to Hogwarts, and you can apply to temporarily cover her position.” Neville looked horrified. “We’re not going to hurt her. Or kidnap her, nothing like that. Really, we’ll just make her look as though she’s ill. She won’t even feel sick.” Neville did not cease looking horrified. 

“Wouldn’t it be easier to use the Polyjuice Potion?” asked Ron. “The way Crouch did? That way Neville wouldn’t even need to reapply for the job.” 

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. People at Hogwarts know her too well. I think they would be suspicious. She and McGonagall are close and we really don’t want McGonagall asking questions.” 

“I’m not doing this. She is a good, kind woman who doesn’t deserve to be used as a pawn. Whether you make her ill, send her on a trip, whatever, it’s wrong.” 

“Did she lose anyone in the war? The second, that is, but I suppose the first is relevant as well.” Ginny looked at Neville and he was briefly struck with the memory of the Yule Ball. She wasn’t too different now than she was then. A bit older, a bit sadder, but still with the face of a person who had survived far too much. 

“A brother and nephew,” sighed Neville. “The nephew was a few years older than us, killed in a mass murder by Lestrange and her cronies. And her husband disappeared during the first war, though it’s unclear he was killed.” 

“So you’re saying that we should not protect the remains of her family?” 

“This isn’t fair. You’re risking more than you’re protecting and you’re dragging an innocent woman in with the lot.” 

“Neville, you’re here with us, even though you didn’t lose any of your family five years ago. Obviously you understand the larger implications of this. You know we’ll help thousands of people, magic and Muggle, if we succeed. And we’re not going to hurt Professor Sprout, I can promise that. She is a magnificent woman who deserves a future without more losses. And you know, I am excellent at making Dragon Pox look real without any risk.” Ginny grinned. 

Neville exhaled slowly. He didn’t want to tell anyone his real reason for coming with. Yes, he felt obligated after seeing how pained Ginny had been in Hermione’s apartment that day, but he had his own reasons as well. He wanted kill Bellatrix Lestrange. There was no question about it. She had tortured his parents, killed his mentor’s family, and murdered the man who, when he was only thirteen, treated him with real kindness and understood his fears. He was happy she was gone now, but this time he wouldn’t balk at killing her the moment they met. 

“I think you’re the only one of us who could teach a class at the N.E.W.T. level,” Hermione added. She touched Neville’s arm. “Luna has healer training; she can act as a St. Mungo’s healer and stay close to Sprout. You also know where she lives, don’t you? You can help us find her, check in, everything like that.” 

Perhaps it was their kindness, or perhaps it was his own inner desire to finally start teaching, the career he always fantasized about as he spent long days in the apothecary, but Neville found himself writing down the address of Sprout’s summer cottage in Edinburgh. He and his grandmother had visited her there twice when he was a student, and now she frequently had him for tea when she was away from Hogwarts. It was a gesture he valued highly and, following his providing the address, believed would never happen again. “She rents it out during the year. I’d expect you can make some use of that,” he said, his shoulders collapsing in towards his chest and the exhaustion of the day finally attacking him. In a fit of guilt, he lay atop the sofa and pretended to sleep while the others worked out plans until the early hours of the morning. 

“So Luna and I will go watch after Sprout, and the rest of you will stay at the Three Broomsticks? You don’t think three men, one woman, and a dog will look remotely suspicious?” Ginny leaned back on her forearms and yawned. The sun had nearly risen over Little Whinging, and they would soon need to leave the empty house. 

“I really don’t think Rosmerta will care,” Ron said with a shrug. “We’ll disguise ourselves as well.” 

“And where will we stay once Sprout realizes she’s too ill to return to Hogwarts?”

“I don’t know Edinburgh, but you’re smart enough to figure it out on your own. You just need to be somewhere you can make sure she doesn’t realize she doesn’t actually have Dragon Pox.” 

“We need to leave,” Hermione said suddenly. “People will be here soon, we know what the plan is for now, so we should get out of here. Mr. Black?” she called. The pacing in the next room stopped, and Sirius poked his head in. “We’re leaving for Hogsmeade. We’d like you to join us, and we can explain our plans further when we arrive.” For a second Sirius looked suspicious, as if he were going to try to run again, but he had stayed in the home all night unrestrained. “We need you to go as your animagus. The rest of us will be in disguise. There’s little risk of attracting attention.” Sirius didn’t reply but transformed back into the dog and followed them toward the front of the house, where they quickly and subtly transfigured their appearances.

“Alright,” Luna said brightly. Both she and Ginny now had mousey brown hair and slightly pug-like noses. “We’ll be in touch. Best of luck, Mr. Black!” She and Ginny linked arms, took a last look at the Edinburgh address, and apparated away. 

They arrived in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. From what Ginny knew, the wizard community here was quite small and tended to be older adults without young children. Tiny cottages along a few streets spread out before them, but they were directly in front of the address Neville had given them. 

An artificial case of Dragon Pox could most easily and inconspicuously be passed through cursed tea. Ginny hoped Sprout would accept them in, offer them a cup, and make one for herself as well. If she didn’t, they would risk having to hex her directly, which would undoubtedly compromise any future relationship.

Together, she and Luna knocked on the dark wooden door. 

Two days later, the Daily Prophet posted a desperate advertisement for an emergency Herbology substitute instructor.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I am so sorry for the hiatus. I ran into some writer's block as well as some personal problems. I will hopefully be updating on a (somewhat) regular basis now.

“Tiberius Fennel?” McGonagall asked with a severe raise of her eyebrow. Neville shifted in his chair, suddenly noticing how badly the wood dug into his spine. 

“A pseudonym, as I’m certain you’ve realized,” he struggled to sound educated and confident, but his words came out with gasps and stutters. “My qualifications, however, are legitimate. The students are well prepared for their exams. That won’t be a problem.” 

“And Pomona? I would gather you had a hand in her illness.” 

“Yes, admittedly. My colleagues and I needed to assure we had access to Hogwarts, for the students’ safety of course. They’ve been watching over her. She’s not ill, really, it’s just a jinx. She’ll be fine.” 

“And how desperate is the situation? I assume you traveled back in time only because of a massive catastrophe ten years from now. After all, it would be foolish to warp reality for any other reason.” Neville shifted again, wrapped and unwrapped his fingers around themselves, and struggled to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

“Well, ah, it started out innocently enough. Things weren’t desperate, but I suppose they weren’t perfect either. It was not my decision to come, not mine alone, at least, but the people I came with were suffering.” Before McGonagall had the opportunity to ask which people, the door to her office burst open. Hermione, still thirteen, was standing in the doorway. She ran towards McGonagall’s desk but froze the moment she realized who else was in the office. 

Though it had been months since McGonagall first peered over his fake name and real qualifications, for Neville it could easily have happened yesterday. “Tiberius Fennel,” she had said during that interview, with only slightly less suspicion. “I see you did not attend Hogwarts.” 

“No, Professor, my mother was a muggle; she had her heart set on a muggle secondary school nearby and didn’t want to send me away. But my father educated me in Herbology and other wizardry at home.” He repeated the same story Hermione had muttered in his ear while they, Ron, and Harry sat huddled around a table in the Three Broomsticks. Giving Rosmerta the excuse that they were recent Hogwarts graduates unable to find work in London, Ron and Harry now worked as busboys and assistant barkeeps at the inn while Hermione had a job at a nearby robe shop. Fortunately, Rosmerta hadn’t seemed to notice the suspiciously opportune coincidence that granted Neville an interview with Hogwarts, nor did she question why four young people would stay in her inn rather than look for flats of their own. She also didn’t mind the dog. 

McGonagall scanned his application and qualifications once again. She pursed her lips and remained silent for a few moments before saying, “Normally I wouldn’t want someone so inexperienced for this type of position. But we are in a rather desperate situation and it appears you can teach N.E.W.T.-level work. Obviously we prefer a Hogwarts-educated instructor, but it would be shameful to let our prejudices get the better of us and allow our students to leave with an incomplete education. Please send me your lesson plans via owl, and we will have your room and office prepared for you by September first.” 

Neville considered leaping for joy but ultimately thought against it. He opted instead for an awkward bow and tripping over his own feet as he stumbled out of McGonagall’s office. Then he scampered away before she could change her mind. On his way out, he was so focused on his success that he walked headlong into Severus Snape’s chest, nearly bowling over his former professor in the process. 

“Idiot,” snarled Snape, and his vicious sneer made Neville’s stomach buckle in an unpleasantly familiar manner. Neville squeaked out an apology, almost immediately regressing to his first-year self. He grimaced and his own piteousness and attempted to stand up straight and present confidence, but Snape had already seen everything he needed. “I suppose Hogwarts must truly be in dire straits if you’re the best applicant Minerva could find. That is assuming you’re the applicant of which she spoke, and not simply a wayward town fool who somehow stumbled into these hallowed halls.” Neville had neither the time nor wit to think of a clever reply, so instead he muttered, “No, ah, I’m the new teacher, er, professor, filling in for Sprout. I, I’m living in the town though, so maybe that’s where...” Out of self-preservation, Neville cut himself off. Snape stared at him through narrowed eyes, and for a second Neville swore that his former professor could see straight through the small disguises he’d adopted and would decry him on the spot. “Fascinating,” Snape said, finally, and he stalked away.

Neville left the castle as quickly as he could without overturning any more professors. 

Miles away in Edinburgh, Luna and Ginny could have used some of Neville’s success. After three days posing as concerned potential renters, Sprout seemed to have caught on to their ploy. She had cornered them, wand out, her normally pleasant face contorted with fury. 

“All right, ladies, I have a few questions for you.” She kept her voice low, steady, and calm even as her face purpled. “Now, in 1978 there was a bit of a trend regarding imitation Dragon Pox, among other illnesses, particularly as exams came around. I spent days with Poppy Pomfrey, Filius Flitwick and Horace Slughorn working out the details of whatever charm, potion, or curse students were willingly placing on themselves in order to look as though they were suffering one of the most deadly diseases known to wizarding kind while still feeling well enough to attend any end-of-term parties. So my question for you, girls, is how foolish are you to expect that I wouldn’t a disease so blatantly artificial?” Her eyes narrowed more severely as Luna and Ginny remained silent. “I suppose that isn’t the real question though, is it? You’re taking me away from my school the same summer that a convicted murderer is loose and after Harry Potter.”

Ginny’s wand was in her pocket. She considered making a grab for it, but every time she so much as twitched Sprout’s eyes flew to the movement. 

The first few days at Sprouts cottage had been successful, relative to their current circumstances. Sprout had been willing to accept that two potential renters would also know exactly how to treat Dragon Pox and would be happy to stay and take care of a stranger in exchange for free rooms. She had even written to Hogwarts regarding her disease. The plan had been going so well that Ginny barely took notice when Sprout said, “It’s been nearly four days and I still feel completely fine.” It was only when she had backed Ginny and Luna into a corner that they began to consider the potential flaws in their plan. 

“For decades it has been my duty to protect the students of Hogwarts from men like Sirius Black. If it is your intention to bring any harm to those children then you will not leave this room alive.” 

“We, ah, we don’t, you misunderstand, I think,” Ginny mumbled and stuttered. She fidgeted with the hem of her blouse, inching closer to the wand in the pocket of her jeans. 

“You misunderstand, Professor,” Luna said brightly. Her tone was so jovial that Sprout nearly dropped her wand out of surprise. “You see, we want to protect the students of Hogwarts as badly as you do. You see, we cannot overstate the dangers that Sirius Black poses to both Hogwarts and the general population. It’s why we’ve launched a covert operation to monitor Hogwarts from the standpoint of a professor. We cannot do so if anyone in the school recognizes him as anything other than an instructor.” 

Sprout’s purple face began to return to a healthier hue, and she lowered her wand slightly. “I’m sorry, miss,” she said with a renewed politeness tinged with extreme shock, “are you telling me you’re from the Ministry?” 

Luna smiled even wider. She looked at Ginny, who could do nothing other than blink a few times and mutter a bit incoherently. “Actually, Professor, we’re from the International Council of Magic.” 

As Sprout finally dropped her wand and Luna celebrated a silent, private victory, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville gathered in the Three Broomsticks for a celebratory Butterbeer. While they drank, Sirius paced around one of the rented rooms in the inn. Staying as a dog helped him stay calm, but he occasionally had to return to being a man and letting the situation’s horror wash over him. He had been caught. Only weeks after his escape he was essentially incarcerated. And by whom? For what purpose? He still didn’t know. They had been in Hogsmeade for four days, and his captors had barely said a word to him. He knew nothing about them. He’d completely lost the ability to discern ages after twelve years in Hogwarts. He assumed the group members were all out of Hogwarts but younger than he was. Thirty-three. He was thirty-three, he reminded himself. 

Perhaps his captors would have been less off-putting if they looked less familiar. Two clearly resembled James Potter and Frank Longbottom, but he knew that was impossible unless he’d finally gone completely mad. Sirius had read that his dear cousin Bellatrix had tortured Frank to the point of insanity, her cruelty knowing no limits, and James was dead. Twelve years later and the thought was still unacceptable. But he would avenge his friend. James and Lily were not forgotten. 

Sirius shook his head and walked the short length of the room again. The others were completely unrecognizable. He had seen two of the girls so briefly that he didn’t get a chance to search for them in his memory. One had looked slightly like Lily, but so did every redheaded woman he saw. The red-haired man reminded him vaguely of Arthur Weasley, but Sirius had seen a recent picture of him and he’d clearly lost most of his hair. Perhaps this was an older Weasley sibling. The woman was beyond recognition as well. She was the only one of the four to speak to him directly, offering him occasional reassurance that they had his best interests in mind and had no intentions to turn him over to the Dementors. 

As he paced, the four strangers entered his room as they always did: without knocking, apparently expecting him as a dog rather than a human. He was sharing his room with James, as he couldn’t help but refer to him, and the man who looked like Frank. When they weren’t with the woman and the redheaded man, they barely said a word. The woman, as she always did, turned pink when she entered the room, while the three men refused to meet his eye. “Hello Mr. Black!” she said with her usual dose of false cheer. “We didn’t expect you to be awake, of course, or we would have knocked.” He knew they wouldn’t have. 

The red-haired man tapped his wand and muttered “Muffliato,” and Sirius’ head snapped up. 

“What did you just say?” he asked in a low voice. Now none of the strangers were looking at him and instead were sharing frightened glances. “Where did you learn that charm? Who taught you?” They all looked down at the floor. “ANSWER ME!” 

“Mr. Black, please,” the woman begged. He stared at her. She had one hand on her wand, one foot out the door; she’d be happy to curse him or kill him or run and warn the whole town that he was here, ready to attack the school as soon as the children were there. He knew she wasn’t on his side. None of them were. No one was. 

“How do you know Severus Snape?” He controlled his voice despite longing to attack each and every one of them. “I’m not simple. I know he invented that spell and I know he’s a Death Eater, the bastard. Are you with him? Is he raising an army?” The four strangers looked around uneasily. 

“Mr. Black,” the redhead finally addressed him instead of exchanging panicked looks with the woman. “Severus Snape is a professor at Hogwarts. He’s under Dumbledore’s guard.”

“We’re in no way affiliated with him, but yes, we are familiar with his work. But either way, none of us are involved with the Death Eaters” the woman continued. She gave him what she must have thought to be a sympathetic smile, but to Sirius I just looked like a distorted leer. He could have laughed. Severus Snape, a Hogwarts professor? He was surprised he hadn’t seen the git in Azkaban. All of the doubts and fears he had about the strangers bubbled to the surface. 

“Let me guess. You want me to lead you to Wormtail. Or at least stay out of your way until you get him. Then you throw me to the Dementors, and you can all run off after Voldemort and destroy what little goodness is left in this godforsaken country. Well I’m not going to let you. I’m here for one thing and one thing only: I am keeping Harry Potter safe. I won’t stop until it kills me. Do you hear me? You’ll have to kill me!” 

Sirius was shouting now, apparently loudly enough to overpower the Muffliato charm. In the distance, they could hear Rosmerta shouting back at them and her heels clicking in the hallway outside the rooms. Before he could say another word, he saw a flurry of wands and everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

A stiff, crisp woman stared at Ginny appraisingly. Her mouth was set in a thin line, reminding Ginny of McGonagall. Ginny, however, had never been in nearly this much trouble with McGonagall or any other person. “Miss Weasley,” the woman began, still not revealing her own name, “you are aware that the act of impersonating an officer from the International Council of Magic is a crime punishable by ten to fourteen years imprisonment?”

Ginny wanted to say several things: the impersonation was not her idea, she didn’t realized the ICM was real, she really, really could not spend ten years in prison without massively fucking up her own timeline, much less the rest of the world’s. Instead she nodded, attempted to look the terrifying woman in the eyes, and muttered, “Yes.”

It was true, the impersonation had not been her idea, nor had she ever expected the ICM to be real. Her father had always said they were a hoax of an organization, occasionally referenced by the Ministry in order to strike fear into the hearts of its workers. Sprout had the same reaction when Luna announced who they were. “They’re…they’re real?” she had whispered half in awe and half in fear. Ginny considered lunging after the wand Sprout had dropped on the ground, grabbing it and running, leaving Luna to deal with the mess.

“We are real,” Luna said, continuing in her bright, cheery voice. “Even though Voldemort historically kept to Britain, we expect that if he were to return he could cause damage on an international scale. Though the Ministry has its strengths, we don’t really trust that it can find Black before he causes unspeakable destruction.” She finished with a smile. Sprout looked between the two of them. “I,” she stuttered, “I suppose you can stay then.”

That’s how they spent the next morning eating porridge in Sprout’s kitchen.

Across Scotland, Hermione woke slowly, rolling over and pulling the thin blanket with her. She expected to feel Ron’s warmth, his arm slinging across her, his breath hot on her neck, but for the first time in months he wasn’t there. Her back pressed against dead air. The only breathing in the room was her own. The day before was still clear. Her foot still stung from the disapparation so fierce she had left behind a toenail. Her arms were still bruised from tackling Sirius Black while Rosmerta clicked up the hall behind them. Now she and Sirius were hidden away in the Shrieking Shack while Ron, Neville, and Harry attempted to cover their tracks at the inn.

She missed her boyfriend. Surely, he would be able to sneak off from his morning shift at the Three Broomsticks before she left for Mademoiselle DuBois’ Formal Wizarding Wear. When she didn’t hear from him last night, she wasn’t surprised. It was already late, and he had to prove to Rosmerta that they were good people and worthy of their rooms and jobs. She couldn’t remember whether they had mentioned Sirius’ name loud enough for Rosmerta to have heard, but it didn’t seem like the village was crawling with Aurors or Dementors. Hopefully Ron assuaged any concerns.

As she got out of bed still dressed in her robes from the night before, she felt a familiar sting of irritation towards the men in her life. Harry had been so useless since they had arrived. It seemed the moment he laid eyes on Sirius every single brain cell ceased working, and all he could do was wander in a stupor. Ron had managed every aspect of their employment with Rosmerta, and only she and Neville had coordinated the Hogwarts infiltration. Neville, at least, was capable of operating on his own. After she helped him with an alias, she trusted he was capable of playing the part of a Hogwarts professor without her assistance. Ron kept looking to her for assurance that he was paying attention to the right information, that he understood what events could leave them into trouble. He was good on his job at the Three Broomsticks and somehow kept Rosmerta from sacking Harry despite his general haziness. Even with their assistance, Hermione felt frustrated. She hadn’t wanted to travel back in time. Sure, she wanted things to be different than they were, she wasn’t a monster, but changing the past wasn’t the way to fix the present. Now she was responsible for planning everything and making sure no one got hurt. Any failure fell on her.

She hadn’t even heard from Luna and Ginny, even though they’d been gone nearly a week. They could be dead for all she knew.  
As she left the tiny bedroom she had locked herself into, she heard a quiet but urgent knocking in the Shack’s front room. The night before, she had immediately locked Sirius in the larger bedroom. Though she had heard his protestations throughout the house, she now gathered that she was right in her assumption that he couldn’t use magic and therefore had not been able to flee the Shack. He wasn’t the one knocking, however. Neville was standing at the front of the house, gently rapping his fist against the wooden walls and quietly calling out for her.

“You don’t need to be so quiet,” Hermione said with as much warmth as she could conjure, considering that he had come in place of Ron. She smiled, but he didn’t smile back.

“I do, actually.” He sighed and scratched his head. “There’s a bit of a problem in Hogsmeade.” Hermione narrowed her eyes and looked at him closely, but he looked towards the floor. “What kind of problem?” she asked in a low voice.

Neville sighed and continued staring at the floor. “We needed to make up a story last night. Rosmerta overheard us when we mentioned Sirius. We were flustered, and Harry said we’d seen him in town. At the Hog’s Head.” Hermione’s mouth went very dry. “She called the Ministry, of course. They’re undercover right now, trying not to draw too much attention. I’m not sure what they’re planning; they’ve been questioning us all night but they won’t tell us anything in return. I think Dumbledore was there too. Aberforth definitely was. What I’m saying is,” he was losing his breath from speaking so quickly and quietly, “Black cannot leave the Shrieking Shack. If he sets one foot in Hogsmeade they’ll find him; these blokes are scary, Hermione, they know what they’re doing.”

“You couldn’t think of anything better? You had to tell her he was in the city?” Even though she thought it was foolish, as if Ministry officials were listening outside the door, Hermione kept her voice to a whisper.

“We were under pressure!”

“So was I, but I didn’t take him out into the middle of the street to show the whole world!” Neville didn’t say anything in response. He just kept his eyes trained to the floor. “I need to go to work. You take care of him.” Without taking a chance to look back at him, she apparated into the busy Hogsmeade streets.

It didn’t look like anyone unusual was milling about that morning. The robe shop was quiet as usual. Mademoiselle DuBois, whose real name was Fuonella Marcus, cast her a typical withering look. Her boss disliked her for any number of reasons, each changing with the day. The shop’s clientele were primarily well-groomed, wealthy, Pure-Blooded women who primarily came in for tea and gossip and occasionally purchased a horrendously overpriced set of dress robes. Fuonella herself had sleek brown hair and a slim frame and always dressed stylishly. Even with her transfigured disguise, Hermione did not exactly fit in.

“Is anyone coming in today?” Business had been so slow, Hermione didn’t know how Joan made it, much less how she had enough money to hire an assistant. Her boss gave her another exhausted look. “People come in every day, Jean.” Hermione forced out a tepid laugh. “But yes, we have two very important customers coming for tea this morning. I kindly request that you let us alone.” Hermione struggled to smile but came up with a sort of twisted grimace.

She would have spent the rest of her day doing inventory were it not for these two important customers. Less than an hour later, while Hermione was hidden behind stacks of fabric, shoeboxes, and receipts, the door to the shop opened and shut quickly. “You are well, I presume?” a stiff female voice asked. Hermione couldn’t make out the woman, but she heard quick, steady steps coming toward the back of the shop. “Never better,” a male voice replied, laden with sarcasm. Hermione jerked upright, overturning several bolts of fabric in order to confirm her worst suspicions. Severus Snape was already making his way up the staircase, his back turned to her but his voice and greasy hair immediately recognizable. Hermione ducked behind a rack of dress robes then, as soon as the door to the upstairs room closed, tiptoed up the stairs and pressed her ear to the door.

From her place on the stairs, she could hear Fuonella’s exaggerated welcome as she played the good hostess, serving the guests tea and scones. Hermione didn’t quite understand why Fuonella held guests like this, particularly when they rarely left with purchases. Now wasn’t the time to ponder her boss’s business strategy, however. She was instead preoccupied with the thickness of the door and her wish for an Extendable Ear.

Once Fuonella’s chatter died down, Hermione could make out most of the conversation. The man began talking. “I trust your family continues to rebuke any rumors of involvement with Black’s escape?”

“It is unnecessary to rebuke anything, Severus,” the woman said. Though she kept her tone light, Hermione swore she could feel the tension cracking through the door and filling the entire shop. “We are not involved with my cousin in any way. All we want is to protect Draco.” Hermione muffled a gasp and pressed herself even closer to the door.  
“You think he’s at all interested in your child? I can barely understand why Lucius wants him around.”

“Please be serious, Severus.” The woman, Narcissa, sighed deeply. “I know they’re saying he’s after Potter. Why wouldn’t they? It’s such an obvious motive. But he’s been in prison for so long, and you knew my cousin as a boy, you know he’s probably looking for revenge more than anything else. Of course he’s really after the families who weren’t sent to Azkaban for their…associations. Not that we were ever involved with anything like that. Not of our own volition.”

“Nella’s in her office, Narcissa. You can speak frankly.” Narcissa didn’t say anything for several seconds, so Snape continued. “Neither of us ever saw Black at a meeting, he was operating so covertly. I don’t know when he got involved or if he knew you and Lucius had been absent for over a year. Dumbledore has asked me more times than I can remember what he was doing, who else he killed. The only people who can answer that are your sister and him. I can assure you, however, if he is after those who should be in Azkaban then he has a long list.”

“He never cared for Draco,” Narcissa sniffed. “He loathed Lucius and me, of course. They’re saying he’s been seen, here, at least that’s what Lucius has heard. If he’s here after Potter I don’t see why he wouldn’t kill Draco as well.”

“He’s not killing anyone. Look, Narcissa, I know his old hiding spots. The passageways, the Shack under the Willow, I can search it myself.” Hermione gasped far more loudly than she’d meant. “If it’s true that he’s here, he’s not getting anywhere near the school. I’ll send Dementors after him, I don’t care. I want to see him get Kissed as badly…” Suddenly the room went quiet. Even though Hermione knew it was time to sneak downstairs, her legs had turned to lead. She remained rooted to the spot until, seconds later, the door burst open and Snape stared down at her.

“I just thought you might need some tea,” she finished weakly.


	6. Chapter Six

“I cannot say this firmly enough: you are no longer employed here. It should be obvious why” were words both McGonagall and Fuonella Marcus planned on saying to their employees, but neither had the chance. McGonagall had been interrupted by Hermione while Snape stepped in before Fuonella could toss Hermione, who was then much older, out on the street. 

McGonagall would have sent Hermione away if the girl were not so pale and shaken. Even at thirteen, Hermione was typically collected when the two met, particularly this year when they were handling the Time-Turner. Today, however, she looked positively frightened. 

“Ms. Granger,” McGonagall stood, abandoning Neville, “what on earth is the matter?” The girl quivered, her eyes flicking between Neville, McGonagall, and the floor. “I can’t,” her voice shook so severely. “I can’t, Professor.” She dropped her voice down to a whisper, “It’s about Black. And it’s also,” she eyed Neville before dropping her voice even further, “it’s also about him.” 

McGonagall raised her eyebrows. 

Several months earlier, Fuonella had been just as shocked when, before she could say anything to her snooping employee, Severus Snape asked, “Do I know you?” in a tone more sincere than she or Hermione had ever heard out of him. Hermione felt sweat pool in her underarms as she stuttered, “I don’t think so.” Her eyes darted back and forth between her boss and the guests. “I’m so sorry,” she spat out rapidly, before Snape could ask another question. “I just, I heard you mention Black. I’m so terrified of him being here. Around the children. I’ve only just left Hogwarts but I know how dangerous he is and if he got in there who knows what he would do to those poor children and they’ve been traumatized enough already and—”

“Miss,” Snape interrupted in that same unsettling yet kind tone, “what is your name?” Hermione was so startled by the question that she almost gave her real name. Instead she went completely silent, holding her tongue to avoid giving away any information or prattling on like a fool. 

“This is Jean,” Fuonella said finally. “Jean Williams. My assistant, for the time being.” 

“Ah. Well, Jean, I can assure you just as I have Narcissa that every inch of Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and any other property that touches the school will be searched entirely before the students complete their first week. If Black has set foot here, even for a minute, we will know and we will find him.” He smiled, and Hermione repressed a shiver of revulsion. “I hope that helps.”

Naturally, it didn’t, but apparently Hermione had little to worry about in the Shrieking Shack. The days passed, and soon Neville had left for the Start-of-Term Feast. No one had come by the Shack, no one had questioned the boys since the night at the Three Broomsticks, and Hermione, by the grace of God and Severus Snape, still had her job selling overpriced robes. 

The Start-of-Term feast proved more difficult for Neville than he was expecting. The tepid applause that followed his introduction made his heart raise and drown out any other noise until all he could hear was a rush of waves in his ear. The food was heavy and flavorless on his tongue, but he ate quickly to avoid speaking. He was seated next to Hagrid, who tried to make polite conversation that Neville could not comprehend, and Snape, who didn’t. He couldn’t bear to look at the students and risk seeing his younger self in the crowd. 

After the dinner, Neville attempted to rush to his chambers, but someone grabbed his arm before he could escape from the throng of professors. A sudden jolt went through his body, and, dreading that it was Snape, he turned around. Remus Lupin had taken his arm and was gently steering him toward an empty classroom, saying, “Professor Fennel, a word please.” Neville, dumbstruck, could only walk along with the man, despite fearing that any word he said could compromise him. 

When they arrived in the classroom, Lupin closed the door, locking it and muttering “Muffliato.” He then perched himself on the desk. Neville suddenly expected an attack, a brutal questioning from his kind but immeasurably clever former Professor. He panicked, tugging on his hair, wishing it were blonder, his face more heavily altered. Lupin smiled at him. “Professor Fennel, I’ve heard that your skills are quite impressive. I am pleased we have the opportunity to work together.” Neville didn’t say anything. He considered running. Lupin’s smile didn’t falter as he continued, “Of course, I don’t know how much you know about me. I realize you were hired very quickly, and you may not have had the opportunity to fully consider everything you would be faced with this year.” Neville remained silent. Lupin frowned. “Or perhaps they didn’t warn you. Despite my request for them to inform the staff, perhaps McGonagall and Dumbledore wanted to keep it quiet among their employees. But of course that’s absurd. So many were here when I was a student, I can’t imagine who else other than you wouldn’t know. Even Severus has put our past behind us.” 

The reason Lupin had grabbed Neville suddenly dawned on him. “Oh, you’re a werewolf!” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. Lupin looked at him curiously. Neville blushed, realizing that his response was perhaps inappropriate. Lupin chuckled, “You’re so young, of course you don’t care.” He reached out and took Neville’s arm, and Neville’s stomach flipped curiously. “Listen I appreciate your understanding. I’ve heard you didn’t attend Hogwarts, so please let me know if there’s anything I can help you with here. It’s a bit of a maze.” Neville, struck silent for an entirely different reason, nodded. 

The next morning, Neville felt significantly more relaxed, despite approaching his first class. He woke with a cautious optimism, assuming this class would help him forget about the whole Time-Turner debacle and the off-putting tension he felt in his stomach every time his mind wandered back to Lupin. He skipped breakfast to avoid the man, as well as his younger self, and glanced over his notes for the day: Fifth years, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, preparing for the O.W.L.S. Despite remembering that Fred and George Weasley were Fifth years at this point, Neville left for the greenhouses with cheer. 

“Alright then, welcome to Herbology!” He clapped his hands at his class and immediately felt like an idiot for doing so. The students stared him down. “Er, I know I’m not your usual professor, and I know many of you were quite, ah, attached to Professor Sprout.” He could see a few students exchange vaguely concerned looks. “But I’m here now! And whether you like it or not, you must prepare for the O.W.L.S. Let’s begin.” Teaching came to him like breathing. He left the class grinning, feeling even happier than he had that morning. That is, until he left the greenhouse and saw Snape standing outside, waiting. The students cut long paths back to the castle to avoid his menacing figure, but Neville knew he could not do the same. “Professor Snape,” he called with false cheer, “what brings you out into the sun?” A few students laughed lightly, and Neville congratulated himself, even though it looked as though Snape might actually punch him.” 

“I require your assistance,” he drawled. Unlike Remus, Snape didn’t take Neville by the arm. Rather, Neville followed him out of a tremendous fear of personal harm. “As you know, Black has been seen nearby within the past month. Though you may not be aware, before his imprisonment both he and Remus Lupin were close friends. I knew him as well. I’ve volunteered to search a few of his old hiding spots.”

“Why d’you bring up Remus?” The walked briskly and had already exited the Hogwarts property. Snape moved them swiftly through Hogsmeade, and Neville feared he would run out of breath. “He doesn’t see like the type of bloke who would take up with a criminal, especially not one like Black.” Snape snorted. 

“I see you’re taken with him. I’m sure the students already are as well. Lupin’s not much better than Black. He’s not a criminal, I suppose, at least he’s never been to Azkaban, but if there’s any person at Hogwarts who poses as great a threat to the students as he does, I have yet to meet him.” 

Neville didn’t want to challenge Snape’s assertion about Remus, but something in him snapped. “You’re just a bigot,” he snarled. Snape smirked. He responded without slowing his pace and while only giving Neville a cursory glance. “Perhaps I am. Perhaps you are a better gauge of Lupin’s character after meeting him when, yesterday? But perhaps, Professor Fennel, I know this man better than you do. I have known both him and Sirius Black for years, and I have also taught at Hogwarts for over a decade. So maybe you should consider trusting my judgment when I recognize a threat to my students. And don’t worry,” he laughed, “it has nothing to do with Lupin’s monthly problems.” Neville knew better than to say anything in return. 

They were in front of the Shrieking Shack now. Neville huffed and puffed from the astoundingly fast walk uphill, and he wished he could warn Hermione telepathically. She had told him she was expecting Snape or possibly someone from the Ministry to come by, but Neville still was unsure whether she had Sirius cooperating and able to withstand an inspection. 

“Now,” Snape said, “if you really want to prove you’re concerned about the students, go open the door.” 

“Fine,” Neville said through gritted teeth. He no longer felt the adolescent terror he had for so long associated with Snape, but after this walk, he was starting to hate him in earnest. Regardless of what Harry had said about the man. Neville knocked on the door. “Why are you knocking?” Snape’s voice made his skin crawl. 

“A basic sense of politeness.”   
“No one lives here.”

“Someone might.”

“The Shack can’t be legally occupied.” 

Hermione opened the door. She furrowed her brow and stared at Neville. “What are you—” she noticed Snape and stopped herself before she said anything incriminating. “May I help you gentlemen?” She grit her teeth and forced a smile. Even though Neville looked nothing like his old self, she still felt compelled to boss him around. She also felt compelled to Curse Snape, who stared at her with an uncomfortable, increasing intensity. Neville looked between them for a second and addressed Snape. “Well, Professor, as you were just saying, why don’t you take the lead on this one?”

Neville restrained his laughter as Snape, who in his presence had never expressed anything beyond derision, blushed and tripped over his own feet as he approached Hermione. “I suppose you don’t recall, but we met the other day.” Neville grinned broadly, and Hermione glared at him from over Snape’s shoulder. “As I mentioned, I’m entirely devoted to preventing Sirius Black from coming anywhere near Hogwarts and its students. As a precaution, my colleague and I are investigating buildings located outside of but still connected with the school.”

“You also can’t legally live here,” Neville called, not even bothering to hide his smirk as both Hermione and Snape turned to glare at him. “Well, she can’t. You said so. You just said it, Professor.” Neville didn’t want Snape as his enemy, particularly when he was playing such a dangerous game, but he couldn’t help himself when he saw how desperately Snape was trying to posture for Hermione. He pushed any thoughts of his behavior with Remus to the back of his mind. 

“You don’t need to leave,” Snape said urgently, staring at Hermione wide-eyed. “Of course you don’t. But the house is technically inhospitable. That’s not why I’m here though. We spoke before, if you remember, and I believe that there’s a passageway between this house and the school. I’m here to seal it off.” 

“Um, no.” Hermione said with little hesitation. “No, I’m not going to let two strange men into my home.” Neville had expected Hermione to question them, argue with them, but not to simply say no. He avoided Snape’s eyes as he turned around. “Miss, I’m only here for your own safety.” He heard Snape say as he left. “I know how to keep myself safe.”

They could have searched the entire Shack without finding Sirius, though. To no one’s knowledge except Hermione’s, he’d bolted from the Shack nearly two weeks ago.


End file.
